


The Mists of Ravenloft

by WanderingBard



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Comedy, Curse of Strahd, Dungeons & Dragons 5th Edition, Gen, Gothic, Horror
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2016-10-13
Packaged: 2018-08-16 02:35:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8083318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WanderingBard/pseuds/WanderingBard
Summary: A drunken ranger, a dragonborn druid of few words, and a wood elf cleric who hears ghostly voices are only a few of the colorful characters in this ragtag group of adventurers. Follow them on their misadventures as they journey through the mists and into the twisted domain of Count Strahd von Zarovich. Will these unlikely heroes defeat the dread vampire lord, or perish like all the other "playthings" that have been lured into his realm?





	1. An Unexpected Journey

**Author's Note:**

> This story follows/details events from an actual D&D 5th Edition campaign I'm participating in - which uses the "Curse of Strahd" adventure. As such, here a few thing of note:
> 
> 1\. We're using a published adventure guide. If it weren't as much of a "sandbox" set up, I wouldn't even try writing it as a story. I do my best to rewrite descriptions of settings and/or add to any scenes that come from text in the adventure guide. That said, please contact me if you feel something is bordering on plagiarism as per the rules of AO3. Though please be reasonable. Some things have to be directly quoted (documents the characters might find, certain bits of NPC dialogue provided by the book...) because of what they are.
> 
> 2\. I only actually control the actions of one of the main characters (Nestadir Tavrobelion), and I'm otherwise just creating a narrative from events that were roleplayed out by the group. Feel free to tell me you love/hate/whatever a character and I'll do my best to pass that along. Just don't expect me to change a character that is not my own, because I don't have the power to do that.

The sun was setting, and an eerie fog lay over the small town. Those who dared to step outside felt instantly chilled to the bone. Pulling his cloak tighter, a lone figure approached the tavern called The Witch’s Cauldron. The damp cobbled pavement glistened in the light of the street lanterns, and the cold and damp seemed to permeate his entire being, right down to his soul.

Stepping into the tavern he shrugged off the hood of his cloak, revealing a narrow, obviously elven face and long, brown hair that was tied back, no attempt being made to hide his pointed ears. His name was Nestadir Tavrobelion, a wood elf cleric in the service of the elven sea god Deep Sashelas. He glanced around the tavern. In the dim lighting cast by the oil lamps he could see that the space was quite crowded, people scattered about at various tables playing dominoes or cards, all of them likely travelers seeking shelter from the weather outside. A woman – the innkeeper’s wife – wandered between the tables picking up empty glasses and placing down filled ones. Nestadir stepped up to the bar, catching the attention of the innkeeper who was tending the patrons there.

Before the elf could inquire about a room, his question was answered. “If you’re here about a room, I’m afraid we’re all booked up,” The innkeeper said, his gaze settling on the elf’s eyes, twin pools of liquid silver that reflected the soul of one who had seen more than his share of darkness. The expression on his aged face softened slightly, and he added, “You’re welcome to stay for some drink and a hot meal first, though.”

“I see. Thank you for your hospitality,” Nestadir said before he turned and again glanced around the room, this time for somewhere to sit. The only clearly open space was a seat at the main table. He slid tentatively into the open seat between a larger figure whose cloak hood was pulled up to obscure his features and a sturdy looking dwarf. With the addition of Nestadir, there was a total of seven at the table. They were strangers, but tonight their fates would become intertwined for better or worse. Who were they?

The cloaked figure to Nestadir’s right was named Wolf, a dragonborn druid of few words. The hill dwarf to Nestadir’s left was a paladin by the name of Arik Kelliher. Both Arik and Wolf were followers of the moon goddess, Selune. However they did not know each other or that they had this in common. On the other side of Arik sat Shaugnir Dodger. Though she was a half-orc and clearly larger than a human woman, Shaugnir’s orcish features were muted and her countenance could almost be considered attractive. Her appearance was, perhaps, a counterbalance for the fact that she was rather dim-witted. Fortunately, as a barbarian she relied more on brawn than brains to survive.

The remaining three sat on the other side of the table. Across from Shaugnir was another figure whose hood was up to hide his features, but for good reason. His name was Adran, and he was a drow. A dark elf on the surface would certainly draw attention, which was particularly unwanted if one were a rogue looking for pockets to pick. Beside him sat a gnome wizard by the name of McAnally. The last at the table was an elven ranger whose love of strong drink left him so intoxicated it was a wonder he could aim, forget about remembering his own name.

Nestadir took in the other six figures at the table by the light of the lamp at its center. The ranger had flagged down the innkeeper’s wife, inquiring whether they had anything stronger than mead, and the half-orc seemed to be studying the building as if to determine how secure it was. Nestadir half-listened as the innkeeper’s wife informed the ranger that they didn’t have what he was looking for.

“At least not anymore.” This latter part was coupled with a finger being pointed in the direction of a rather large and muscular man who was slowly depleting a bottle of whiskey with a second sitting on the table in front of him. With that the lady left, making her way to the fireplace and lighting the fire prepared within.

Suddenly the mull of the tavern was silenced as the door swung open with a loud bang. A figure stood in the doorway, framed by the lamp lit fog behind him. As he strode forward his heavy, booted footfalls and the jingle of his coins shattered the silence. With no hesitation he walked straight up to the main table and stopped. He stood there proudly in a wide stance with folded arms. Nestadir had a moment to take in the stranger’s appearance. He was dressed in a detailed, bright red, woven vest, a green shirt which draped on him in loose folds, and well-fitted pants. Perhaps the only off-putting thing about the man was the way his hat hung askew on his head, his eyes hidden in the shadows.

Finally, in an accent, he spoke saying, “I have been sent to you to deliver this message. If you be creatures of honor, you will come to my master’s aid at first light. It is not advisable to travel the Svalich Woods a night!” Then he pulled from his tunic a sealed letter, addressed to no one but bearing a royal stamp.

 McAnally reached out to take the letter.

“Keep your paws off of that,” said the ranger.

Almost simultaneously Shaugnir reached out and grabbed the rogue’s hand, saying, “Oh stop little man.”

The stranger seemed undeterred by this, simply dropping the letter onto the table before he continued. “Take the road west from here, some five hours march down through the Svalich Woods. There you will find my master in Barovia. It’s a marvelous place. I think you might enjoy it, and there is work for anyone.”

He seemed clearly confident that this letter was for them, and he didn’t seem to be lying. There was just something about him, though. Perhaps it was that he seemed almost too confident. And then there was the question of how he knew the seven of them would be in this place, together, at this exact moment.

Amid the silent stares of the patrons, the man now strode over to the bar and said to the wary innkeeper, “Fill the glasses, one and all. Their throats are obviously parched.” He then dropped a heavy purse filled with gold on the bar, and with that he headed back out into the cold.

The babble of the tavern resumed, although somewhat subdued and with a questioning tone to the voices. The eyes of the seven travelers fell upon the letter sitting on the table before them. The crest on the seal was unfamiliar to Nestadir. He could make out what appeared to be a bird – maybe a raven, and a small cameo of what was possibly a castle. A few of them took turns examining the letter. When the wood elf took his turn he noticed that the paper was very fine, the kind used as stock for royalty. The seal was still very crisp and rounded. The parchment had been handled well and it was not folded nor was it damp. It had to have been created rather recently, within the day even.

By this point Shaugnir’s attention span had worn out, and she was now knocking on the walls for some reason. The letter was passed into the ranger’s hands, and he attempted to open it. He struggled for several minutes, but neither the paper nor the seal gave any. He set it on the table, and before anyone could say anything he pulled out a dagger and made to stab the letter.

It was at this moment that Nestadir realized another thing. There was an aura of magic about the letter which felt like some sort of protection incantation, and it dawned on him that stabbing it was quite possibly the last thing they wanted to do.

Obviously he wasn’t the only one who felt it, as suddenly Wolf flipped the table. The tabletop struck the ranger in the face and the letter was thrown to the floor. The ranger clutched at his nose, and Nestadir realized it was to stem the blood dripping from it.  
  
As McAnally picked the letter up, the ranger looked at Wolf and asked, “What was that for?”  
  
“I am Wolf,” said the druid, his reptilian features visible as his hood had been throw back.

McAnally studied the letter for a moment before declaring, “I don’t want to open this.”

The letter passed to the rogue who poked at it before the half-orc pulled it from his hands.

“Ha! You couldn’t open it. I’m going to open it.” She too failed, though the letter glowed with a faint, opaque, purple light as she tried.

“Stop!” Cried McAnally. “Don’t do that! Bad juju, literally all over this,” he said, pointing emphatically at the letter. “No,” he scolded. Then he took the letter from her and handed it to Arik.

Meanwhile the innkeeper approached the group, turning to Wolf and asking, “Why did you flip over the table?”

“I am Wolf,” stated the druid matter-of-factly.

“Why…?” He seemed to lose his train of thought as he looked the dragonborn up and down. “What the hell are you?”

“I am Wolf.”

He took a step back from Wolf, stating, “I just don’t want any… problems. Just… did you know who that man was?”

“I am Wolf?”

This was followed by a chorus of responses from the others.

“No.”

“No.”

“I don’t think any of us knew who that man was.”

“He was nicely dressed though.”

“He was a Vistani assassin” the innkeeper informed them.

“What?” asked Adran. “He was an assassin?”

The innkeeper seemed to ignore this as he asked, “What deals do you have with the Vistani?”

“He just gave us this letter,” responded Arik. He showed the letter to the innkeeper who backed up further, clearly wanting nothing to do with it though his gaze remained fixed on it.

“Do you know what this is?” Arik asked him.

The innkeeper seemed too startled to respond for a moment, then he quickly and firmly stated, “I don’t want you here. No. Not with that. If you’re… Th-the Vistani are okay, but… him… No.”

“Tell us what it means, little man,” said Shaugnir, stepping forward.

The innkeeper wasn’t fazed by the half-orc however. “Just get out of my inn. You don’t have to pay for the damage. Just… just leave, all of you.” He paused before adding. “Whatever deal you’re in, you better complete it. That’s all I have to say.”

“Deal?” asked Adran.

“I didn’t realize we were making any deals,” said Arik.

“Obviously if you’re receiving a letter from him, you’re in a deal,” came the frightened innkeeper’s reply. “He knows you’re here.”

“Who’s him?” asked Nestadir.

“No! Get out! Get out!”

Several of the others clamored in response to things that had been said, but for the most part they began making their way to the door. Wolf bowed respectfully to the innkeeper before turning to leave, while Arik tried unsuccessfully to persuade him to tell them who had sent the letter. Eventually, all seven ended up back outside.

The fog had gotten so thick one could almost cut it with a knife, but as the party stepped out into it the fog seemed to part, creating a clearing. At the center of this clearing sat a fortune teller’s wagon before which stood the man who had delivered the letter to them. The large, barrel top wagon was very well kept and draped with fabric. The reins and bits on the large Clydesdales pulling the wagon had many bells and red feathers on them.

“Can we ride with you?” McAnally called out, though from his tone it was hard to tell whether he was being serious.

The Vistani man, it seemed, decided to take the gnome seriously. “Why yes,” he said. “I am assuming you want to go on the west road with me?”

“Son of a bitch,” muttered the ranger. “We’ll go.”

His response was drown out by the wizard’s more enthusiastic, “Yes.”

“Please,” said the Vistani man. “Step inside.” Almost as an afterthought he added, “One of our elders is currently inside. Please knock before entering and ask to be let in.”

The ranger stepped up to the wagon, knocked loudly, and called out, “You got like a tampon I can put in my nose?”

The Vistani man walked over to the ranger and smacked him soundly on the back of the head. “Please treat our elders with respect.”

“Yeah, if he gives me a fucking tampon.” This response garnered the ranger another sound smack to the back of the head.

“Fuck!”

Whack!

While this was going on, the half-orc began investigating the carriage, much the same as she had done to the walls of the inn before. Meanwhile the gnome pushed past and knocked on the door.

The voice of an elderly female came from within the wagon, “Please, I’ve been expecting you. Come in, wizard.”

With that invitation the wizard opened the door and climbed in. As the half-orc and the rogue started to join him, Adran turned to Shaugnir and said, “Please make him stay quiet,” and he pointed in the direction of the ranger.

“Shut up, little man.”

The party – for at this point it seemed that was what they were – began funneling into the wagon. As Nestadir waited his turn he looked around, not that there was much to see. There was an unusual lack of noise, not even the chirp of crickets to break the eerie silence. The only visible creature, aside from the horses, was a very large raven that sat in a nearby tree and seemed to be watching them. Something about that raven seemed off, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was.

As the ranger climbed into the wagon, Wolf lightly tapped him on the shoulder, utilizing healing magic as he did so. The blood dripping from the elf’s nose stopped. The rest of the party members climbed in, with Wolf waiting until last.

The inside of the wagon was lit by two lamps and decorated in warm, bright colors. The only window appeared to be one in the door they had entered through. At one end of the wagon was a wood stove that warmed the wagon. A table occupied a majority of the remaining space, with two benches along its sides. While the wagon was fairly large, there really wasn’t much standing room. As the party had climbed in, each member had been essentially forced to take a seat on one of the benches in order to make room for the next. With all seven inside it wasn’t cramped, but they were all sitting rather close together.

Sitting at the head of the table was the elderly Vistani woman who had invited them in. She was playing with a deck of cards.

“I want to play,” said McAnally excitedly. “What are you playing?”

Upon closer inspection, it became clear that it was a deck of tarot cards.

“Please,” she said, finally speaking again, “make yourselves comfortable. Have some wine.” With this she pulled out a bottle of wine.

“Ho ho! I’m liking this,” said the ranger.

Though the wizard tried to stop him, the ranger grabbed the bottle and began drinking straight from it.

As this was going on the cart began moving. Nestadir, however, only really noticed that fact when Wolf opened the window in the door and stuck his head out of it with his tongue lolling out of his mouth. The wood elf didn’t have much time to wonder at the druid’s strange behavior, however. His attention was quickly drawn back to the Vistani woman at the head of the table. She had stopped toying with the deck, and now flipped over one card and laid it on the table.

She looked down at the card, the bishop. She looked at each of the seven in turn and said, “What you seek lies in a pile of treasure, beyond a set of amber doors.”

She shuffled the deck again, then once again took the top card.

At this point Shaugnir turned to Wolf, who must have seemed much more interesting to her, and asked, “What doing?”

“I am Wolf,” came his response.

“Ah.” The half-orc proceeded to stick her head out the window as well.

“Silence, please,” said the Vistani woman. Then she laid the card on the table, the guild member. “I see a dark room full of bottles." At this point she looked expressly at the ranger holding the bottle of wine.

“Are they full or empty?” he asked.

Seeming to have not heard him, or perhaps simply declining to respond, she continued, “It is the tomb of a guild member.”

“She said bodies, not bottles,” said Nestadir. He was sitting further away and had misheard her, and bodies made more sense to him than bottles in regards to a tomb.

“Oh. Bodies.”

“Nope. Bottles,” corrected the Vistani woman.

“Ay! I was right! They were bottles.”

While they’d been arguing, she had again shuffled the cards. She flipped the top one again face up on the table, the rogue. “I see a nest of ravens. There you will find the prize.”

She once again reshuffled the deck, as she was doing so the ranger asked, “So what? We done with this card game? We play some checkers?”

“Please,” she said, her tone sounding grim, “He is next. He who shall not be named.”

She flipped over the top card again, the executioner, and said, “I see a dark figure on a balcony, looking down upon this tortured land, with a twisted smile.”

She repeated the process of shuffling the cards and flipping over the top one once more, revealing the innocent. “The one you seek dwells with the one whose blood sealed his doom, a brother of light snuffed out too soon.”

“So they’re dead?” questioned the ranger.

Rather than respond, the Vistani woman shuffled the cards again and playfully declared, “Whoo, that was fun.” She pulled out two more bottles of the wine and motioned to pass them around, but all of a sudden her expression went flat and she slumped forward, face first onto the table. She slowly sat back up and looked at all of them with eyes that seemed glazed over, saying in a voice not quite her own, “That which you seek lies in the womb of darkness, the devil’s lair: the one place to which he must return.”

Then she went limp again. A dead silence hung over the party until the ranger said, “I think I’ve been to the womb of darkness, and I told that bitch I wasn’t gonna pay her.”

The silence now broken, Arik asked, “Is she dead?”

At this Nestadir reached over, checking for a pulse. Finding one he said, “She is alive.” Then in a muttered tone he added, “Whether that’s a good thing or not, I’m not sure.”

His mutter was drowned out by the ranger’s reply of, “Good. Old people just start to smell. Too fast. Too fast.”

# * * *

They continued on for about an hour or so. As they traveled a few of them debated what to do about the passed out Vistani woman. Nestadir took this time to make a note in his journal of the card reading and the prophecy the old woman had given. It was just a habit of his to document his discoveries and things that he felt might be important.

Eventually McAnally turned to Adran and in a hushed voice said, “Hey, rogue. Five gold for the tarot cards.” He paused, then went on, “I ain’t stealing that. I ain’t a thief. You are. Come on.”

If the rogue intended to respond, his attempt to do so was cut off when the wagon stopped abruptly and the seven conscious occupants went silent. A silence that was shattered by the distinct howl of a wolf.

Wolf proceeded to howl back.

The voice of the Vistani man came from outside the wagon calling, “Werewolves in the mist!”

It was not the first time any of the seven had heard these words. The hamlets east of Daggerford had fallen prey to a pack of werewolves that seemed to come from within the Misty Forest. On nights of the full moon they came, cloaked in crawling mist that seemed to follow them wherever they went. The beasts spread death and mayhem, slaughtering adults and stealing children before retreating back into the woods. Many had tried to combat the werewolves, with little success.

Wolf glanced upward, saw the full moon, and howled again.

Meanwhile Shaugnir spied the werewolves on the horizon, moving towards their position. “Those big dogs.” She pulled her head back in and turned to the others. “Guys, there’s big dogs. Coming towards us.”

“You’re a druid. Talk to them,” McAnally said to Wolf.

“I am Wolf.”

“He’s going to do a whole hell of a lot of talking,” Nestadir retorted.

“I am Wolf.”

“Guys. Guys. Big dogs,” the half-orc repeated urgently.

“I am drunk,” the ranger said, mimicking Wolf.

“Yes, we realize that. Now unless you’re going to sacrifice yourself so we can get away, shut up.” Nestadir wasn’t seriously suggesting that, he was just somewhat fed up with the drunken ranger.

“I’ll sit right here then,” the ranger said.

“We can sacrifice him,” said Adran.

“No, we can sacrifice you,” retorted the ranger.

“You can’t run as fast,” said Shaugnir.

The others argued as the howling continued outside, but now Nestadir heard worried voices, children’s voices, as well. This wasn’t entirely new to the wood elf. He occasionally heard the voices of people from his old village – which had been destroyed by a monster who had killed everyone but Nestadir – in his head, never quite sure if they were real or figments brought on by his survivor’s guilt. This, however, was different. He didn’t recognize these voices. That was new, and somewhat unsettling.

_“Hide.”_

_“Hide.”_

_“Hide.”_

_“They’re coming for us.”_

_“Hide.”_

_“Please protect us.”_

_“Hide”_

His attention was brought back to the others before him as Shaugnir declared. “If this wagon is truly animal proof, it will protect us.”

This was followed shortly after by a knock on the door and the Vistani man saying, “Either we all step out and fight or I leave you here. Which would you prefer?”

Wolf opened the door and stepped outside, followed shortly later by the rest of the party. Or rather, all of the party except for the drunken ranger.

The other six gathered outside with the Vistani man. Sometime since they’d last seen him, he’d traded his vest for a shoulder holster containing a roughly a dozen daggers.

All eyes scanned the mist. The werewolves were within about 200 yards, headed straight for their wagon. Between the darkness and the mist, Nestadir had to guess there was somewhere between six and fifteen of them.

“So there’s twelve,” said Adran. As a drow his darkvision was superior to that of any other member of the party. “What do we do?”

In response, the gathered party members all readied their weapons.

# * * *

Back inside the wagon the ranger was attempting to wake the unconscious Vistani woman. Suddenly the wolves howled again, and she shot upright. She slowly rose to her feet, grabbed a staff from beside her chair, and made her way to the door

# * * *

The werewolves came to a halt at the edge of the road, and Wolf growled at them. One of the werewolves stepped forward, stood upright, and stared directly at Wolf. Wolf stopped growling and whined softly.

At this moment the Vistani woman stepped out of the wagon, the drunken ranger following close behind. She looked to the wolf who was standing upright and said, “It’s been a long time since we’ve met.”

The standing werewolf, presumably the leader, slowly morphed back into the form of a very handsome black-haired male.

“I’m drunk,” said the ranger softly. “Did that happen?”

“Yes, it happened,” Nestadir retorted.

The now human leader sauntered forward with an air of confidence, seemingly unfazed by the weapons pointed at him. Stopping when he stood toe to toe with the elderly woman he asked, “And what business do you have moving through our lands?”

She wasn’t cowed, calmly stating, “I have been sent by the Lord of Barovia.”

There was a moment of pause before the leader gestured to the ragtag party of adventures and asked, “And what of these creatures? Do they carry any seal of his?”

Wolf pointed to the ranger, who was still standing behind the elderly woman. Shaking, the ranger pulled out the letter they had received at the tavern – in the chaos of leaving it had wound up in his possession – and held it out as if it were a holy symbol that would ward off the werewolves.

Meanwhile the elderly Vistani raised an eyebrow, questioningly, as she asked, “So do you wish to upset _him_? They have been invited. You know what happens when you toy with his playthings.”

At those words several of the werewolves behind him backed up a few paces.

“And Mother Night will not be protecting you from _him_.” In a grim tone she drove her point home. Then she turned dismissively and climbed back into the wagon. Meanwhile the werewolf leader walked slowly back to his pack. Once there he shifted back into his wolf form and ran, the other wolves following in suit. As they left the mist once again engulfed the place where they had stood, until the clearing where the seven adventurers and the Vistani man stood was once again surrounded by the mist.

“We’re all going to die,” said the wizard, breaking the silence that had fallen with the werewolves’ departure.

From inside the wagon the voice of the elderly woman called, “Are you coming?”

“Huh? What?” Shaugnir asked. She had fallen asleep leaning on her greataxe while the Vistani woman and the werewolf leader had talked.

At this moment the stunned Vistani man regained his composure, stating somewhat sheepishly, “And that is why she is the elder.” He then climbed back to the driver’s seat and motioned for the seven to get back into the wagon.

As everyone climbed back in, Nestadir stared into the mist where the werewolves had been and thought about the words the Vistani woman had spoken. Were they all going to die as the wizard said? She’d called them playthings. Playthings for a man that even werewolves feared to anger. It certainly didn’t bode well, but between the heavy mist and the werewolves it seemed too late to turn back.

He climbed into the wagon, despite not really wanting to. As he went to take a seat the Vistani woman said, “Darling cleric, would you please put another log in the oven? The mist is getting to these old bones.”

“Yes, of course,” Nestadir said warily, feeling a chill that had nothing to do with the mist go down his spine.


	2. Into the Woods

After about two hours more of riding the wagon came to a stop, this one much less abrupt than the one before. The Vistani woman’s eyes lit up like a small child’s and she said, “Oh, this is my favorite part! You might want to see this.” Then she rose and ushered them all outside.

The party stepped out of the wagon onto a muddy road. Black pools of water like large, dark mirrors stood in and around the roadway. On both sides of the road loomed giant trees, their branches reaching out to claw at the mist. However the thing that most captured their attention were the large, stone buttresses looming above them. A huge, rusted iron gate hung on the stonework, blocking the road. Two headless statues of armed guardians stood, one to each side of the gate. The entire thing seeming to materialize out of the mist and the seemingly impenetrable woods on either side.

The Vistani man climbed down from the wagon and looked at the seven adventurers. “This is your last chance. Do you wish to come with me for fortune and fame?”

The first to respond was the ranger, who said, “I feel like if I get out those damn werewolves are going to get me, so I will come with.”

The elderly woman chuckled as if she truly found this statement amusing, saying, “Oh they’re harmless puppies.”

“I am Wolf?”

The half-orc shrugged, stating, “I don’t really care. I just like to kill things.”

Meanwhile Nestadir stepped closer to the gates. They seemed to radiate an unholy magic, as did the fog surrounding them. He also got an unsettling sense that the gate was rejecting the seven adventurers – preventing them from opening it – but not the two Vistani.

As if to prove him right, the elderly woman sauntered up to the gates. She brandished her staff, pointing it at the gates. “This is my favorite part,” she said. “Open sesame! Wooo!” And she waved her staff so the end made small circles. In response there was the sound of several mechanical gears kicking in, and the gate slowly creaked open. Beyond it the adventurers could see a stone corridor that ended in a second set of doors.

“Come with me,” the elderly woman said, leading the way through the now open gate.

As the seven of them followed her through the gates, Shaugnir looked at the iron structures and nodded, almost approvingly. “Owlbears will definitely not break down these gates.”

“Why are you so concerned with owlbears?” asked McAnally.

To this she simply uttered one word, “Owlbears,” before staring off into the distance.

Everyone else turned as the gears began grinding again. The wagon was bringing up the rear, and as it passed through the gate it closed on its own. Two large bars slid mechanically into place behind it. As the gate behind them closed, the doors in front of them slid open with the same mechanical sound. Once the process was finished the elderly woman proceeded forward again, unfazed by any of it.

On the other side was the Svalich Woods. The forest floor was made up of moss-covered dirt and tree roots. The trees were unnaturally close together and towered above them. Their tops were lost in the mist, and either the treetops or the mist blocked out much of the light. As a result the forest was lit in a death-gray light. All around them was the silence of the grave, and yet one almost expected to hear a bloodcurdling scream split the air.

The ranger bent down, seemingly looking for any sign of wildlife. The dead silence made Nestadir suspect he wouldn’t find anything, though the ranger seemed convinced he had. With a grin he stood up and said, “We shall eat hearty today in these woods.” Then, starting off into the trees, he promptly tripped over a root. As the ranger fell one of his swords fell from its sheath and he landed on it, the edge of the blade catching him in the groin.

"Ow! I think I just cut my own ball off!" The ranger’s cry was somewhat unnecessary as they had all watched it happen and just weren’t very inclined to do anything about it. The Vistani man was nearly in tears because he was laughing so hard.

“Natural selection,” muttered Nestadir with a roll of his eyes.

“I hate all of you,” groaned the ranger.

Wolf seemed to take pity on the ranger, and walked over to check on him. He was soon joined by Adran, but the rogue’s intentions were probably far less innocent.

“Are you ok?” Adran asked innocently. Unbeknownst to everyone but Wolf, he was at the same moment stealing the ranger’s coin purse. Wolf unsuccessfully tried to grab Adran’s hand, but the rogue wasn’t getting away that easily. The dragonborn’s expression grew angry and his mouth glowed with electricity.

“Want half?” Adran asked.

No reaction.

“Are you sure you don’t want it?”

The lighting in the dragonborn’s mouth subsided just a little and one eyebrow quirked up inquisitively.

“Three quarters?” asked the rogue.

The dragonborn nodded, the electric charge going out completely.

As this had been going on, the vast majority of the party went back to studying the eerie forest around them. Rather than waiting for help, the ranger had removed the sword from his groin himself and made the situation worse. Fortunately Arik – honor bound as he was – laid his hands on the ranger and healed him to stop the bleeding. He’d been too distracted by his work to notice anything but Adran handing gold to Wolf, and thought little of it.

After getting healed, the ranger attempted to stand up, and instead blacked out from a combination of pain and blood loss.

Shaugnir had bent down, grabbed the front of the ranger’s shirt, and started smacking him. “Wake up.” Each time he didn’t wake, she hit him again. Each time the force of her smack got progressively harder. The Vistani woman watched the half-orc’s antics with a mix of confusion and bemusement. Finally she brought an end to it by saying, “We must continue on. Slap him later.”

Shaugnir sighed, but relented. “Ok.”

“Drag him for now,” Nestadir said.

“Wolf drag?” the druid asked. “Wolf drag!”

Arik shook his head. “I’ll carry him.”

So the dwarf picked up the elven ranger and carried him, acting as if the weight meant nothing, and they were on their way.

# * * *

The party continued onward into the woods. As they traveled the mist parted in front of them to let them through. Looking back over his shoulder, Nestadir noticed that the mist would again swallow the trail behind them once they had passed.

After what seemed like a long time, shadows appeared in the fog. The shadows took shape and became shops and dwellings as the muddy ground gave way to slick, wet cobblestone. It was the dark of night, the moon barely visible in the sky. Through the windows of the dwellings were pools of blackness, and the shops all appeared to be closed. Even the tavern was shut tight. The only sound besides their footsteps was a distant, mournful sobbing.

This distant crying faded away, and a soft whimper, much closer, drew their eyes to a pair of children standing in the middle of an otherwise empty street. Nestadir was reminded of his own younger siblings who, like the rest of his village, had been killed by a monster which had attacked and spared none but him. Many years had passed since then, but the sight of these children still tugged at his heartstrings.

He quickly closed the gap between him and the two children. Meanwhile the ranger regained consciousness – still slung over Arik’s shoulder – and looked around before stating “I’m going back to sleep.”

Ignoring him, Nestadir focused on the children. The whimper had come from the smaller boy, who couldn’t have been much older than seven and whom was crying. The older girl, he’d guess somewhere around ten, shushed the boy again before saying, “There’s a monster in our house.” She pointed to one of the houses, a tall brick row house in a state of disrepair. Like the rest of the houses, the windows were dark. A gated portico lead to the door, the rusty gate hanging slightly ajar. The houses on either side appeared abandoned, their windows and doors boarded up.

The girl looked clearly terrified, so Nestadir crouched down so he was on her level. “Is there anyone else inside?”

“There’s a baby. It’s Walter. He’s in the nursery.” She then pointed to a window on the third floor of the house. “I’m sorry. I didn’t… I forgot about him. He… I was scared because of the monster.” There was a brief pause, then, “Our mother and father keep it trapped in the basement.”

“It’s ok,” Nestadir said, trying to comfort her.

At this point McAnally walked up from behind the wood elf and placed his hand on the shoulder of the little girl, who was almost the same height as the gnome. “What’s in it for us?” he asked, making Nestadir want to smack him.

“My parents are very rich…”

“Done,” declared the gnome, and he took off towards the house.

“Please, we… We can’t go back in there. Not with the monster.”

Nestadir stood up and turned back to the party, finding that the mist had moved in behind and cut them off from the two Vistani and the wagon. The ranger had been set down now that he was awake, and he strode forward saying, “I’ll stay with the children.”

“I don’t trust you with the children,” the cleric retorted.

“Just send them to the old lady, she’ll watch them,” said Adran.

“We’re cut off from the old lady.”

“Well just send them that way,” he pointed to where the wagon had been. “They’ll get there eventually.”

All this seemed to make the little boy more scared, and he clung tighter to the girl. In response the girl said, “We’ll stay here. Just… just don’t get hurt. The monster… it’s scary. We could hear it howling and screeching and… it scares us.”

“You guys go, I’ll stay with the kids,” the ranger said again.

Nestadir turned back to him again. “I said I don’t trust you with the kids.”

At this Wolf grabbed the ranger by the ankle and began walking towards the house, toppling the ranger and proceeding to drag him along. “Wolf drag.”

The rest of the party made their way to the house except for Nestadir, who turned back to where the children had been only to find the mist had engulfed their location. It seemed the mist was continuing to shepherd them where it – or whatever or whoever was controlling it – wanted them to go.

He thought he could hear what sounded like two sets of footsteps headed in the direction of the wagon and the Vistani, and could only assume it was the children following the suggestion of waiting with the old lady. Reluctantly he turned and followed the others to the house.

The rusty gate shrieked as the party pushed through it. All of the party, except for Shaugnir, stepped onto the portico. She, instead, took a huge leap and grabbed onto a second floor balcony above them. She began pulling herself up, apparently intent upon finding a faster way to the third floor nursery.

The rest of the party now stood facing a set of oaken doors, flanked by two oil lamps that hung by chains from the portico ceiling, which led into the house. The party pushed onwards into the foyer. The only things of note Nestadir noticed were a small fireplace on one wall and a shield emblazoned with a gold windmill on a red field above that. On either side of this shield were paintings of some kind.

Half of them hung back to study the foyer, Wolf releasing the ranger now that they were inside. Meanwhile Adran, Nestadir, and Arik pushed onward, through half-open mahogany framed doors set with panes of glass, into the main hall. The room seemed to run the entire width of the house. A black marble fireplace sat against the near wall with a longsword mounted on the wall above it. At the other end of the hall stood a red marble staircase, winding its way to the second story. The walls were covered with wood panels sculpted with images of vines, flowers, nymphs, and satyrs. These panels followed the path of the stairs as they wound their way upward. It was a rather grand house – or it had been at one time – and it must have cost a small fortune.

The trio turned to face the staircase. Doors in the walls to their left and right led into other rooms. As Adran snuck off through a door in the left wall, Nestadir turned towards the door in the right wall. It led into an oak-paneled room that looked like a hunter’s den.

In the center of one wall was a fireplace over which hung stag heads and other such trophy kills. Two padded chairs draped in furs faced the hearth. A table stood between them upon which sat a cask of wine, two carved wooden goblets, a pipe rack, and a candelabrum. Near one corner stood a cloth-covered table with four chairs around it, above it a chandelier hung. On two of the walls not containing the fireplace stood wooden cabinets. There were also three stuffed wolves around the perimeter of the room. Two flanked the fireplace and the third stood in the corner nearest the cloth-covered table.

Through glass doors on the cabinets he could see an assortment of bows and crossbows, but no arrows or bolts. However, there were draws at the bottom of each cabinet that were currently closed. Logically if one had ranged weapons they needed to have ammunition, unless all of it had been used. Though it was stealing, he reasoned that they had been asked to get rid of the monster in the basement and that it was better to be safe than sorry.

He walked over to the nearest cabinet and pulled on one of the drawers, finding it to be locked.

Suddenly he heard voices. They were again new ones, not people from his village and not the children he’d heard during their run-in with the werewolves. These ones were also yelling.

_“Run!”_

_“Run for your life!”_

_“They’re going to kill you!”_

# * * *

Adran found himself in a wood-paneled dining room. In the center of the room sat a carved mahogany table. Eight high-backed chairs with sculpted armrests and cushioned seats sat around it, and a crystal chandelier hung above. On the table sat eight place settings of silverware and polished crystal amidst a spread of food which included a roast pig.

He studied the room further. The near wall contained a marble fireplace over which a mahogany-framed painting of an alpine vale hung. The wall panels were again carved, this time with images of deer among the trees. Red silk drapes hung, covering the windows, and on the far wall a tapestry – depicting mounted hunters and hunting dogs chasing a wolf – hung from an iron rod bolted to the wall.

Upon closer inspection he found the painting above the fireplace was faded and the tapestry was rotted. Much of the silver was tarnished and a few of the crystal glasses were cracked. In contrast to the old, musty building and décor, the food on the table looked recently made.

Adran, however, was uninterested in the food. He stared intently at the crystal chandelier and wondered if there was a way to remove it from the house. As he pondered this he grabbed the bottle of wine off the table. No sense leaving that behind.

# * * *

_“Run!”_

_“They’re going to kill you just like they killed me!”_

At the strange, spectral warning Nestadir spun around to find that the three stuffed wolves had come to life. He glanced towards the door as the wolves started growling at him.

Suddenly Wolf ran into the room, taking a stand near the center of the room and growling right back at the wolves. This made the wolves hesitate slightly, but after a moment one – presumably the alpha – stepped forward. He no longer cared about the wood elf cleric. His attention was fully focused on the dragonborn druid. At least it was until a fire bolt – cast by McAnally – came flying into the room from the doorway and hit it.

The alpha yelped in pain, stepping back some, as Arik charged in with his morning star in hand, racing towards the wolf who was nearest to Nestadir. He swung at the wolf, but it ducked and his weapon passed over its head.

Hoping to catch the wolf distracted, Nestadir aimed his crossbow at the wolf and fired. His aim was off however, and the bolt merely clipped the fur on the top of the wolf’s head before embedding itself into the wood-paneled wall.

# * * *

Shaugnir pulled herself onto the second floor balcony. She grabbed onto the window and tried to open it, only to discover it was locked. Still, she peered through at the room beyond. The room was lit with a soft welcoming light and she could see that the furnishings and red velvet carpet seemed clean and well kept.

She moved to the next window and saw much the same thing through that, except in this part of the room she noticed a shadow moving. It entered the room, heading towards the balcony she was standing on. As it did so another shadow followed it. She couldn’t tell much about them, but she could tell that they were larger than she was.

She opted to run, throwing herself back over the balcony railing and dropping several feet to the ground below. There she gathered her bearings and noticed that all the while the mist had been moving in, surrounding the house and leaving only a small clearing where she now stood. From within the mist she heard howls and screams, and within it she could make out the shapes of creatures running. It was still moving towards her.

# * * *

While the fight in the den was going on, the ranger had made his way into the main hall – drawn in by the sounds of growling and fighting – and was staring at the sword hanging over the fireplace. He took the sword down, studying the windmill cameo that was worked into the hilt. It actually appeared to be rather valuable, though there didn’t seem to be anything magical about it.

As he was looking it over, Adran came back into the room with the bottle of wine – drawn out more by the sound of the wolves than having given up on the impossible task of stealing the chandelier from the dining room.

“Hey, ranger. You want this?” he asked, holding up the bottle. “You want the wine? I’ll trade it to you for that sword.”

The ranger seemed tempted by the offer, but in the end responded, “Fuck off.”

“Suit yourself,” he said, tucking the bottle into his bag.

Shaugnir came quickly in at this point, having decided the house was a better option than the mist outside. She spotted Adran and said, “There’s big things on the second floor. They were very big. They were bigger than me.”

As she said this a mouse ran down the stairs. Shaugnir screamed and fainted.

# * * *

The three wolves darted forward, each aiming for a different fighter. The wolf Nestadir had attempted to shoot came at him. The cleric stepped back, and it snapped at the air where he’d just been standing. Meanwhile the Alpha charged at Arik. It snapped at the dwarf who side-stepped out of the way. The final wolf charged Wolf, and this one didn’t miss its mark. It latched firmly onto the druid’s arse.

In response the druid farted and let loose a thunderwave that rocked the room. Arik was thrown against the wall, and the alpha wolf dropped like a rock and didn’t move. The other two wolves and Nestadir managed to stand their ground, as did McAnally who was still standing in the doorway.

The gnome wizard launched another fire bolt, this time at the wolf that was gnawing on the dragonborn druid. The fire bolt hit the wolf, but seemed to fizzle as it did so. Embarrassed, McAnally whined in defense, “I don’t always do this!”

# * * *

Shaugnir woke up, saw the mouse again, and screamed briefly before remembering. “Oh, that’s right. Not big creature.”

She stood slowly up, and caught the scent of roast pig coming from the dining room. This caught her attention much more than the sounds of fighting in the den, and so she followed her nose to the dining room. Meanwhile, unnoticed, the drunk ranger began stumbling his way up the stairs.

Shaugnir entered the dining room, made a beeline for the table, and began to gorge herself on the pig.

# * * *

Arik righted himself, placing his hand on his leg. A healing glow emanated from the hand before the dwarf pushed himself back into a standing position.

Adran now entered the fray, trying to shove aside the gnome wizard in the doorway. McAnally swung at him, and being shorter his fist connected with Adran’s groin. After feeling his fist connect, McAnally ceased resisting, and with that the brief struggle ended and the rogue now stood in the doorway. He aimed and let loose an arrow, hitting the wolf that was attacking the druid. It went limp, falling to the floor.

Meanwhile Nestadir was pulling out his mace as his crossbow would do him no good with the wolf practically on top of him. The spectral voices continued to be less than helpful and actually somewhat frustrating.

_“Just run! Just run!”_

_“You won’t survive!”_

_“Don’t trust the people! Don’t trust the people!”_

_“They lied to me! They let me in and they lied to me!”_

_“Fear the cultists!”_

Ok. So those last bits, while not necessarily helpful, had been very interesting. Whether the cultists mentioned were still a threat or not remained to be seen, though he was beginning to suspect that this had all been a trap; that the house itself was more than it seemed and would give them more than enough challenge either way.

He swung his mace, letting out a yell as he brought it down up the wolf’s head with a sickening thud. The beast dropped in a heap at his feet. As the last wolf was vanquished, all three seemed to turn back into the husks of the taxedermied wolves.

Wolf sat down and started panting. Nestadir crossed over to Wolf, placed a hand on the dragonborn’s shoulder, and cast a healing spell. Then he turned to Adran. “Now, rogue. Any interest in looking in the locked drawers?”

“The drawers are locked?”

“Yes.”

“Where should I start?”

“Start with the cabinet I was by.”

Adran moved over to the cabinet and began trying to pick the locks. Meanwhile McAnally looked around.

“Where’s the drunk?” He asked, turning and wandering back into the main hall, presumably looking for the ranger and possibly the half-orc as well.

“Need these?” Nestadir heard Adran ask. He’d turned toward McAnally as the gnome wizard had spoken, but now turned back to the rogue. He’d gotten the first drawer open and was holding up what he’d found in it – bolts for a hand crossbow.

“No,” Nestadir replied. “I have a light crossbow.”

The rogue moved down to the second draw and began to attempt opening that. He got it open, but as he did he heard something snap. He decided to assess the damage later, opening the drawer to find bolts for a light crossbow.

“I’ll take those,” Nestadir said, adding them to the bolts he’d been carrying on him. He had felt that taking these out of potential need was justified before, but now he had absolutely no qualms about it seeing as the whole house seemed to be trying to kill them.

Unfortunately the glass paneled doors of the cabinet itself – which separated them from the bows and crossbows within - were still locked, and in trying to open that second drawer Adran had broken his pressure wrench. He wouldn’t be opening anything now.

That wasn’t a problem for long, however. Wolf rose to his feet and crossed to the first cabinet. He grabbed onto the back and pulled it so it fell front first onto the floor with a crash.

“Now everything’s upside down,” said Adran.

“Wolf no care.”

“But how can we get the items?”

Wolf picked the cabinet back up. With the glass panes having been smashed in the fall, unlocking it was now unnecessary.

McAnally appeared in the doorway as the rest of them – except for Wolf – began appropriating the weapons, drawn back to the room by the sound of the cabinet crashing to the floor. Arik seemed somewhat disturbed by the way they were virtually ransacking the house, but even he was procuring a light crossbow from the cabinet.

Meanwhile Wolf crossed to the second cabinet in the room. Visible through the glass doors were a heavy crossbow and a quiver of twenty bolts. As far as they knew the cabinet and drawers were locked just like the previous cabinet had been, so he grabbed onto the back and toppled this cabinet as well, sending it to the floor with another resounding crash. Then he stepped on the back for good measure.

  _“That is mahogany,”_ said one of the spirit voices in Nestadir’s head.

McAnally joined Wolf by the downed cabinet, crouching down to investigate it. He stayed there for a moment, then stood up and turned to Wolf. “Can you put this back up? It’s all going to fall out.”

“I am Wolf?”

“It was open already. Lift it up again.”

“Okay,” Wolf said, but he just stood there nodding, not doing anything. “Wolf, no do without please.”

“Oh. Please.”

Wolf righted the cabinet and pulled open the first drawer. Inside was a small black oak box. McAnally pulled it out and opened it. Inside were two decks of playing cards and two wine glasses. He shut the lid and tucked it into his pack.

As he did so one of the spectral voices whispered to Nestadir, _“He’s going to die.”_

A second warned, _“If you lose, you lose more than your money.”_

Those warnings were rather disturbing, and Nestadir decided he’d make sure to tell the gnome about it later. It could have been nothing, the spirits certainly didn’t have to be truthful, but it still seemed the better option was to warn him and have it turn out false.

The second drawer of that cabinet was empty, and there was nothing else of use to them in the den, so the five of them made their way back into the main hall to investigate the rest of the first floor.


	3. You Never Split the Party

  
As the party searched the rest of the first floor, Wolf and McAnally found themselves in what appeared to be the kitchen. The room was tidy, all the dishware, cookware, and utensils neatly stored in drawers and on shelves. The only things sitting out were a cutting board and a rolling pin that sat on the worktable. Against the far wall stood a dome-shaped stone oven, its iron stovepipe ran up and through a hole in the ceiling. To the left of the stove stood a door, which led to a pantry.

Wolf stepped into the pantry to investigate. All the food appeared to be fresh, so he proceeded to stuff his pockets with the basil and oregano he found there. Then, rejoining McAnally in the kitchen he asked, “Where drunk?”

As he looked around the room he spotted a small door in a corner near the door they’d entered through. Behind it was a small dumbwaiter, and on the wall next to it was a tiny brass bell and buttons labeled with the words _master bedroom_ and _servants’ quarters_.

Wolf turned to McAnally and said, “Gnome, in.”

“Ok,” said the gnome. Then, more enthusiastically. “Yeah. I’m… I’m gonna do it. Let’s do this!”

He climbed into the dumbwaiter, and Wolf shut the door before hitting the button labeled _master bedroom_. With that the dumbwaiter rumbled to life.

# * * *

McAnally waited until he felt the dumbwaiter come to a stop. He opened the doors a crack to peek out, but the room beyond was poorly lit. What he could see was unkempt, dusty and covered in cobwebs. Deciding he didn’t want to explore this room further, he fumbled on the wall beside the dumbwaiter until he hit a button and quickly pulled his hand back in as the dumbwaiter rumbled downward again.

When it came to a stop again, he opened the doors and looked out upon an undecorated bedroom. The only furnishing were two beds with straw-stuffed mattresses, each with a footlocker sitting at the foot. Servants’ uniforms sat neatly folded atop the footlockers, more of which hung in the open closet. This was clearly the servants’ quarters.

McAnally tentatively slipped out into the room. Moments after his feet were firmly on the floor there was a ringing sound, and he turned to see the dumbwaiter heading back downstairs without him.

The gnome whined a little as he realized he was stuck there. He turned back to the room and tentatively crept towards the footlockers to inspect them. As he was doing so he heard a sound from the wall with the dumbwaiter. Turning to look he saw it go rumbling past on its way to the master bedroom. However, as he continued to watch the bell rang and the small box came slowly back into view and stopped.

He sprinted and jumped into it just before it rumbled to life again. It returned him to the master bedroom. With as much as this possibly possessed box had been moving without him, he didn’t really want to get out. He did, however, open the doors, this time opening them enough to see more of the room.

 The dumbwaiter itself was situated in a cobweb filled parlor. Burgundy drapes covered the windows, and the only furniture there was a table and two chairs. Beyond that he could see the larger bedroom. In the center four-poster bed with embroidered curtains and tattered veils. There were also two matching wardrobes and a vanity with a wood framed mirror. Atop the dusty-coated vanity sat a jewelry box.

At the sight of the jewelry box, McAnally jumped out of the dumbwaiter and stepped further into the room. As the final corner came into view he saw a fireplace before which sat a padded chair. He also happened to look down and noticed a rotting tiger skin rug lying on the floor. His mind returned to the wolves in the first floor den, and it was then that he heard a bell ring and turned to see the dumbwaiter rumbling back downstairs without him. He turned slowly back to the tiger, and couldn’t help but feel like it was watching him. He sat down in the corner and started crying.

# * * *

Arik wandered into the kitchen to see what had become of the dragonborn and the gnome, and there he found Wolf playing with the buttons on the wall. The dumbwaiter was not possessed, the dragonborn was just curious about how the dumbwaiter worked and had no clue how much trouble he was causing for his compatriot above.

The dwarf looked around the room, then turned to Wolf and asked, “Where’s the gnome.”

“Up.”

Looking concerned, the dwarf sternly said. “Down. Gnome down. Please.”

“Up.”

“Bring gnome down.”

“Open door. Gnome up.” After a pause the dragonborn grinned and asked, “Dwarf in?”

“No!”

He pushed the buttons a few more times before Arik shouted, “Will you stop pushing the buttons!?”

Wolf ignored him, sticking the basil and oregano in it and pushing the _master bedroom_ button again. Then he stuck his head in the shaft and called up, “Give you bed. You comfy now.”

# * * *

McAnally finally stopped crying and stood up. Keeping his eye on the tiger he started to creep towards the jewelry box. _If I even think it moves_ , he thought, _I’m gonna… crawl under the bed._

The tiger remained motionless, but he had the strangest feeling the eyes were following him. The tiger rug had initially been between him and the jewelry box, and he had managed to creep around to the other side of it. That was when he heard the bell ring. The dumbwaiter came partway up, then started back down. Moments later another ding and it was back on his floor. For some reason this time the bottom was littered with basil and oregano.

The only problem with all of this was that in his moving around he’d placed the tiger between him and the dumbwaiter. He whined softly and – first checking to be sure it was safe – crawled under the bed to hide and wait for the others to save him.

# * * *

As Shaugnir finished eating the pig in the dining room she noticed its taste become rather bland and stale, and she began to feel sick. She sprinted from the room searching for a bathroom. Unable to find one, and finding herself in the den her compatriots had just vacated, she began getting sick in the fireplace. It was coming out both ends. She started with her arse in the fireplace, but soon found she needed to turn around and stick her head in as well.

When she finished it reeked something awful, but she felt somewhat better.

As she pulled her head out a flame lit amidst the refuse – which included the still whole apple that had been in the pig’s mouth, because she had barely bothered to chew her food. “I have magical shit? Woah!”

But as she watched the flame grew, and she began to realize that this wasn’t her doing. She’d disturbed the house, and it was lashing out.

# * * *

Back in the kitchen Wolf pushed the button again, but when the dumbwaiter returned it was empty aside from the herbs.

“Should we go upstairs and see where the gnome went?” Arik questioned, his tone sounding like he was asking a small child, all the while attempting to subtly suggest that the correct answer was an affirmative one.

“Wolf get in dumbwaiter.” Or at least he tried to, but it was a two foot cube so there was no way he was going to fit. He could get his head in, but that was it. Looking up didn’t help either since the top of the box blocked his view of the shaft.

Wolf resigned himself to grabbing his herbs again and following Arik to rejoin the rest of the party.

As they rejoined Adran and Nestadir in the main hall, Shaugnir came sprinting out of the den. With most of the party together again, the fog began spilling through the open doors that led to the foyer.

“Guys! Guys! Scary fog! Scary fog!” said the half-orc.

The fog swiftly cut them off from any of the rooms, giving them nowhere to go but up. As the party retreated up the stairs a loud explosion came from the den, but they were too far up to really see what had happened. They vaguely noted that the fog stopped its progress at the foot of the stairs.

The party found themselves at the top of the stairs with the passed out ranger lying on the landing. Wolf bent over the ranger and addressed him, “Drunk?” When he got no response he pulled open the ranger’s mouth and shoved the basil and oregano into it, then turned to Arik.

“Dwarf carry or Wolf drag?”

“Yeah, dwarf carry,” came the reply as the paladin slung the unconscious drunk over his shoulder.

“Ok.”

Noting the leaves sticking out of his mouth, Arik started trying to pick them out.

“Leave oregano,” Wolf said “Drunk smell better.”

“Yeah, but he’ll choke on it and… it’s not a mess I need to deal with.”

The five conscious adventurers examined the second floor landing, staying as close to the stairs as they could. The upper hall was lit by oil lamps mounted on the wall. The red marble staircase they still stood partly on continued upward towards the third floor, though a draft seemed to creep down its steps.

Across the hall from them stood a fireplace identical to the one in the main hall below. Above it hung a wood-framed portrait depicting the two children they’d seen outside with a man and a woman that were presumably their parents. The father was holding a baby, which the mother appeared to be staring at scornfully. On the walls to both sides were sets of wooden double doors; one per wall, each flanked by suits of armor. A third, unguarded door was just to their right.

Adran cautiously led the way into the hall. As he got near the first suit of armor, one of the ones on the left, it began to shudder. Though there was clearly no one in it – the spaces where the segments of the suit didn’t overlap contained nothing but empty air – the armor began moving, grabbing him by the shoulder and lifting him into the air.

Wolf sprang into action, opening his mouth and blasting the armor with a torrent of electricity. In almost the same moment Nestadir took a position at the bottom of the upward spiral of stairs and Shaugnir charged around the back side of the animated armor. The wood elf fired his crossbow, the bolt puncturing the armor and remaining lodged there. Meanwhile the half-orc swung her greataxe at it, the blade hitting its mark and leaving a huge split in the back of the suit from which a blue light briefly flared.

# * * *

In the master bedroom, McAnally quickly grew tired of waiting and crawled out from under the bed. He walked over to the vanity, watching the tiger pelt as he went. It still felt like the long-dead beast was watching him, but nothing happened. The gnome reached out to try and take the jewelry box that sat on the vanity’s dust-coated top, but as his fingers touched it the tiger’s tail seemed to shift.

Pulling his hand back, he quickly scampered away. When nothing further happened, McAnally cautiously made his way back to the small parlor by the dumbwaiter. There he sat down on one of the dusty chairs and pushed aside the porcelain bowl and jug that sat on the table atop a dusty tablecloth.

The gnome dug into his pack and pulled out the black box he’d found in the den downstairs, opening it again. Inside were the two decks of cards and two wine glasses. Now that he had a chance to really look at them, he noticed the glasses had strange symbols on them that he didn’t quite understand. He unpacked the two glasses, setting them on the table before pulling out the two decks of cards. One deck was black, and the other was white. He set the white deck aside and toyed with the black one, shuffling it.

When he stopped shuffling he pulled three cards from the deck – a five, a seven, and a two. He lay them face up on the table, and all three of them started spinning. As he stared into the spinning cards, he started seeing images. In the spinning five he saw himself being engulfed by the eerie mist outside. In the seven the gnome saw a new image, this one also showed him. He was holding the sword that had been above the fireplace in the first floor hall, wielding it as if he were going to fight someone. Lastly he gazed into the two. There he saw the same scene he’d seen in the seven, but it was a different angle and he could see who he was fighting. It was the rogue, Adran, and as he watched it cut to a scene of Adran standing over him and killing him.

The cards stopped spinning, and after taking a moment to let what he’d seen sink in he gathered them up, put the black deck back, and took out the white one. Strangely, the faces of all the cards in the white deck appeared to be blank. Despite this he proceeded as before, shuffling the cards and dealing three out face up. As he dealt each one he felt himself growing tired and his head getting murky. Other than that nothing really happened, so he put them away – finding as he did so that his energy and coherency returned.

Setting that deck aside too he turned to the cups. He picked of the first. Despite that it was empty he raised it to his lips as if to drink from it. He felt his head going cloudy, a feeling which went away as he set it down. He picked up the second and put it to his lips as well. This time he seemed to hear many voices screaming and yelling.

He packed it all in the box and looked towards the tiger again, but it hadn’t moved from its spot on the floor. In fact it didn’t seem it had moved beyond the slight twitch of the tail earlier. He stuck the black box in his pack again and darted for the nearest door.

Big mistake. It was glass and led out onto a balcony. He found himself stepping into the mist outside, and felt a sense of dread in the pit of his stomach. Quickly he darted back inside as foggy hands tried to grab him and drag him away. As he started to shut the door the foggy hands reached in after him, but he got it closed and the hands dissipated.

He took a moment to recover from that mishap before making his way to the double doors that led out of the room – his eyes on the tiger the whole time – and opening them.

# * * *

Back on the second floor landing the ranger was finally regaining consciousness, and found himself on the dwarf’s shoulder for the second time in a matter of hours. He saw the fighting going on, and tried to join in. His struggling brought the fact that he was awake to Arik’s attention, and the dwarf set him down.

The ranger promptly charged up to the first suit of armor on the right wall. It shuddered and animated, just like the first, at his approach. The animated armor grabbed the drunken elf by the head and lifted him off his feet, then punched him in the gut with its free iron fist – resulting in the ranger vomiting on the armor.

Arik rolled his eyes and charged into the fray, going for the suit of armor that was holding Adran – who was struggling to no avail. He swung his morningstar, aiming for the helmet. His aim was true, but the helmet rose up into the air and his weapon passed harmlessly underneath it. As its helmet returned to its shoulders, the suit of armor smacked Shaugnir with its free hand, as crossbow bolt zipped harmlessly past the fighters.

Meanwhile the remaining two suits of armor sprang to life. The one on the left wall charged the half-orc from behind, swinging wildly. She heard it behind her and spun around to retaliate, her greataxe connecting with the helmet and leaving a huge split in it. The two became locked in combat, and it was clear Shaugnir was going to be distracted from aiding the rest of the group until she could finish off her attacker.

The remaining suit went after the dwarf, landing a punch to the paladin’s back. Whatever damage it did was short-lived; soon undone as Wolf stepped up next to Arik and healed him before turning his attention to the armor that had struck the dwarf.

Arik ignored the suit of armor behind him – confident that Wolf would have his back – and swung again at the one restraining the rogue. This time his weapon connected with the helmet and sent it flying across the room. The rest of the suit simply collapsed into a heap on the floor, though the one gauntlet remained in a death grip on Adran’s shoulder.

Freed from the armor that had been holding him – which was now scrap metal on the floor – Adran darted back towards the stairs. Meanwhile the suit of armor that had rushed in behind Arik swung at him again, one punch connecting with the dwarf’s back and the other passing harmlessly over his head.

Wolf and Nestadir joined Arik in attempting to rid themselves of his attacker, while on the other side of the room, the ranger struggled to free himself, thrusting his longsword at the armor holding him aloft. The plates separated and his blade passed harmlessly through the open gap left behind.

# * * *

McAnally found himself looking out onto the third floor balcony. The room beyond was as dusty and cobweb coated as the master bedroom behind him. Unlit oil lamps hung from the walls, which were covered in oak panels carved with woodland scenes of trees with falling leaves and tiny creatures scampering about. The red marble stairs spiraling up from below came to an end, and the only thing on the landing – besides doors leading to other rooms – was a cobweb covered suit of black plate armor.

As the curious gnome studied the carvings on the wall he noticed that there were subtly hidden bodies hanging from some of the trees. As he crept up for a closer look, worms pushed their way up through the rotting floor and out the eye sockets of some of the carved corpses.

McAnally looked once again around the rest of the landing, and he noticed that in one particular spot there were strange scratch marks on the floor. He moved in for a closer look, finding what appeared to be the outline of a very well hidden door. He began pressing around, searching for a way to open it, and by chance his finger landed on a skull in the carving – the head of one of the hanging corpses – that depressed when he pushed on it.

With a sound of mechanical gears the hidden door swung slowly open, almost knocking the gnome over as it did so. The door locked into place with a final mechanical clang, and the gnome peered into the space beyond. Inside was a small landing with a flight of stairs leading upward.

Without a moment’s hesitation, McAnally proceeded through the open door and up the stairs, finding a door at the top landing. The wood seemed warped and cracked, this section as dusty and visibly aged as the third floor. It was almost as if the house didn’t expect people to make it this far. For those that did the ruse was up, and the effort to make things look tidy and recently lived in was no longer worth it.

As the gnome reached out for the door handle, he heard the sound of children laughing. It was purely innocent laughter, and it came from the other side of the door.

# * * *

The battle on the second floor landing appeared to be taking a turn for the worst. Shaugnir was still battling one of the three remaining animated suits of armor by herself. The armor fighting Wolf and Arik had knocked the dwarf paladin down, and he now lay unmoving on the ground. Meanwhile the final one hurled the ranger over the top of his comrades. He hit the wall and fell, unmoving, to the floor.

Nestadir rushed forward, putting his hand on the ranger and casting a spell to stabilize him for the moment. As he did, Wolf was sent to the ground in a limp heap when the armor that was no longer distracted by the bumbling ranger charged at him from the side.

Meanwhile the other armor prepared for a killing blow on Arik. Nestadir and Adran both fired on it, and both missed. Shaugnir was the only other party member still standing, and she was still tied up with the third suit of armor. She wasn’t looking too good either. The armor had her down on one knee, looking dazed and struggling to stand.

All hope seemed lost until Arik’s holy symbol glowed with a violent purple light. The armor’s fist came down, but as soon as it connected with the light the suit disintegrated into dust.

With that the tide of the battle seemed to turn in their favor. Adran took down the third suit of armor as it prepared to strike a killing blow against Wolf, and Nestadir said a prayer of healing, desperate to keep Shaugnir on her feet before rushing to Wolf’s side and stabilizing him.

The revitalized half-orc swung her great axe with all her might and split the armor in half like she was cutting through butter.

The three weary fighters sank to the floor. They all shared a look, and came to a silent agreement that they would rest there until the other members of the party could continue on. It wasn’t exactly safe – Nestadir suspected nowhere in this house truly was – but they didn’t have a choice. There was no way they could carry on as they were. Hopefully their missing party member wasn’t in too much trouble in the meantime.

# * * *

McAnally opened the warped wooden door and pressed on into the room beyond. He found himself in the attic hall, a bare room choked with dust and cobwebs. He watched as footprints appeared in the dust. There were two sets of them, both small, which moved about the room like children skipping and playing. Both trails eventually went up to a door across from where he stood and vanished.

He crossed the room to the door, but found that it was held shut with a padlock. He looked around, initially for anything to open the padlock with, and saw two other doors down a short corridor. Deciding he wasn’t going to get anywhere with the padlock, he went to look in those other two rooms instead.

There was one on each side of the corridor, and he opted to look in the left one first. The dusty room beyond was filled with furniture draped in dusty white sheets. An uncovered iron stove sat against one wall of the room. At first glance this storage room was nothing interesting, but McAnally crept in to investigate it further.

Near the door he had entered there was a spot where the running board looked oddly warped. It was split in the wrong spot and didn’t line up properly. He crouched down and started pushing at it, and felt something – something more than just the board he was pushing on – move. He grabbed ahold of it and pulled, opening what appeared to be another secret door. Beyond it was a stone spiral staircase leading down.

McAnally found himself remembering the words of the girl they’d met outside the house. _“There’s a monster in our house… Our mother and father keep it trapped in the basement.”_

He decided he didn’t like the look of those stairs, and he made his way back out of the storage room into the attic hall. Creeping across the hall, he made his way to the door opposite the storage room he’d just exited. Opening the door, he found himself looking into a small, spare bedroom. A wardrobe stood against the near wall. Across from the door a slender bed at up against the wall with a nightstand next to it, and in the corner opposite the bed sat a rocking chair and a small iron stove. Dust and cobwebs coated the room, and there really didn’t seem to be anything of interest; so he shut the door and crawled under the bed.

As he lay there staring at the door, he again heard the sound of children laughing – this time coming from the other side of the nearby wall.

# * * *

Hours later the main party was finally able to move on and began investigating the second floor for any sign of the missing gnome. They were faced with choosing one two identical sets of double doors – opposite each other – or the single door at the immediate top of the first flight of stairs. Choosing the double doors in the right wall, the rogue led the way in.

“Wolf stay,” said the druid, taking up a guard position outside.

The room they arrived in was a library. Red velvet drapes covered the windows of this room. One wall was lined with floor to ceiling bookshelves. The opposite wall held a fireplace with a picture of a windmill hanging above it. In the corners to either side of the fireplace sat two overstuffed chairs. Directly in front of the party, angled so it faced both the door and the fireplace, was a mahogany desk with a matching high-back chair.

Shaugnir took up a position by the door, letting the other four investigate the library.

Nestadir made his way over to the desk as Adran studied the bookshelf. Atop the desk sat an oil lamp, a jar of ink, a quill pen, a tinderbox, and a letter kit. The drawer of the desk was empty save for an iron key. The cleric took it and pocketed it, just in case it might end up being necessary elsewhere in the house.

The shelves which Adran were studying were filled with books about every subject imaginable. Tomes of history, warfare, alchemy, and even works of poetry and fiction. Nothing seemed to stand out until the half-orc left her post by the door and came up behind him. She gripped onto one section of the towering bookshelves and ripped it away from the wall, revealing a room behind it. There had been a secret door.

They all turned to the half-orc with stunned expressions, to which she shrugged and said, “Wood no look right.”

There were more shelves in the formerly hidden room. Nestadir stepped inside to examine them, realizing as he did that they were all books of dark magic. At this point, that wasn’t really surprising. The further they traveled into the house, the more he suspected it had always been a trap.

Adran pushed past the cleric to investigate a large wooden chest against the far wall of the room. The lid of the trunk sat half open, propped up by a skeleton hanging out of the trunk like a mouse in the maw of a lion. Closer inspection revealed that the chest had once been trapped with poison darts, the trap triggered by the unlucky adventurer whose skeleton Adran now shoved aside so he could open the trunk and look inside.

As the others gathered around the trunk to examine its contents, Nestadir noticed a letter clutched in one of the skeleton’s hands. The broken seal on it was identical to the one on the letter they had been given by the Vistani assassin.

He took the letter and opened it, but the writing on the page was meaningless to him. Disappointed, he joined the others in divvying up that which was useful from the trunk. In the process of this the letter somehow passed into the hands of Arik. When the dwarf stepped aside and began putting the items he’d acquired into his pack, the letter fell out of his hand and landed on the floor, open. As he bent down to pick it up, his eyes scanned over the writing on the page.

> _My most pathetic servant,_
> 
> _I am not a messiah sent to you by the Dark Powers of this land. I have not come to lead you on a path to immortality. However many souls you have bled on your hidden altar, however many visitors you have tortured in your dungeon, know that you are not the ones who brought me to this beautiful land. You are but worms writhing in my earth._
> 
> _You say that you are cursed, your fortunes spent. You abandoned love for madness, took solace in the bosom of another woman, and sired a stillborn son. Cursed by darkness? Of that I have no doubt. Save you from your wretchedness? I think not. I much prefer you as you are._
> 
> _Your dread lord and master,  
>  _ _Strahd von Zarovich_

# * * *

McAnally wasn’t much for patience, and after a while he crept back out of the room and down the hall to the padlocked room the children’s laughter seemed to be coming from. He studied the padlock, but couldn’t think of any way to get it off without locating the key. With this goal in mind, he turned back to the stairway that led to the third floor.

As he started down the attic stairs, he heard a strange clicking sound. He saw the secret door at the bottom of the stairs slowly closing and quickened his pace, only to have it shut before he could reach it. He pushed on it, but nothing happened and this side didn’t seem to have a button to open it. He was effectively locked in the attic.

He went back up the stairs and looked around the attic. Ultimately making his way back to the storage room where he found himself staring down the dark, spiral stairs. He could hear moaning sounds coming from somewhere down below. That was far from comforting.

He wasn’t keen on going down those stairs, so he started inspecting the storage room. Pulling the sheet off one nearby item, he found it was a trunk with the lid hanging slightly ajar. Through the opening he could see something cloth inside it, possibly another sheet from the look of it.

He opened the trunk. The fabric inside was another sheet, though this one was tattered and stained with dried blood. Through the rips in the fabric, one could see that the tattered sheet was wrapped around skeletal remains dressed in a nursemaid’s outfit. On closer inspection he surmised that she had been stabbed, repeatedly, to death.

Upon realizing this he stumbled backward, tripping and grabbing at anything to stop his fall. His hand clutched fabric, which did nothing to break his fall, so he ended up on the floor next to a half-uncovered wardrobe. He scrambled to his feet, pulling the cloth the rest of the way off as he did.

There was the sudden, loud screech of a woman screaming and the wardrobe doors shuddered for a moment before a purple specter resembling a terrified, skeletally thin young woman in a nursemaid’s outfit burst forth from it. She circled the storeroom before flying straight at McAnally screaming, “Leave the children alone!”

An icy chill that seemed to reach right to his soul hit McAnally as the spirit passed through him. McAnally collapsed and began blacking out. The very last thing he saw was the nursemaid’s specter standing over him. As his world went dark there were two thoughts in his head. First: staring up at this female specter standing over him was giving him the best view of breasts he’d ever had in his short and secluded life. Second: though he’d never been a spiritual creature, the terrified gnome found himself desperately praying, _Some god… Any god… Some god..! Any god..!_


End file.
